A Spot of Tea
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: After a debaucherous night, sometimes all one wants is a good cup of tea. Grelliam.


Okay, so this started as a filthy Eric/Alan/Grell threesome fic (with some Eric/Alan emo on the side) from Alan's POV, and evolved into two parts where Grell goes back to Will's flat afterwards...and then, well, the Grelliam was way better than the threesome. So I scrapped the first part, and this became pure Grelliam. BECAUSE SOMETIMES, THE CHARACTERS DO HAVE TO SPEAK IN BETWEEN THE PORN. O_o;; As always, thanks so much to deadcellredux for all of her help and encouragement.

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**A Spot of Tea**

Over the years, Grell has gone to Eric Slingby on numerous occasions for pleasure, to be shagged in the perfect way: hard, fast, prurient.

It's what Grell craves - cinema, drama, sensation.

He's enjoyed tonight, Alan Humphries for the first time (truly exquisite) on one side, and Eric on the other. It had been divine; it had been absolutely magnificent, a dream.

Will hadn't been there.

He's a bit pissed as he makes his way to Will's flat and uses his key to let himself in. He knows Will is probably asleep, and tries to be quiet as he makes his way through the sitting room, tripping on a few things in the process.

And then he finds himself at the rather ominous end of a scythe before realizing who it is.

"Will!" he says, halfway through the bedroom door. The room is dark, and Will is standing there with a surprised look on his face that immediately turns to annoyance.

"Honestly," he growls. "What do you want?"

He replaces his scythe in the corner where it was leaning, and he climbs back into bed.

Grell follows him, and leans forward to whisper in his ear, "I'm afraid I've been violated by Alan Humphries, and I'm ever so tired."

Will stops for once, looks at him, evaluating.

"Eric was there," Grell adds, and Will flushes slightly. Grell just smirks, and adds, "I did remind him, in fact, of that one occasion when you put your-"

Will coughs and interrupts. "I'd rather not recall. For both my and Slingby's decency."

"Will," Grell sighs, his tone laced with alcohol, and he lies down next to Will on top of the duvet and curls against the outline of Will's body.

"Will you ever stop?" Will asks softly, not moving.

"What ever do you mean, darling?"

"You know what I mean, Grell," Will says in a flat, quiet voice. "And you know it has nothing to do with Eric Slingby or Alan Humphries."

"Honestly," Grell replies, closing his eyes, "how ever can I respond to such an ambiguous query?"

Will sits up and pushes him away, flipping on the light, and Grell catches himself before he falls right off the edge of the bed.

"I just needed a good shag," Grell says, looking at Will hesitantly.

"Very well that you found one then," Will says neutrally. Then adds, "Now off with you."

"Very well," Grell replies wistfully. "Then I shall retire."

And with that statement, he collapses back onto the bed and arches his back like a cat.

"Will," he says softly, "you're a terrible man."

Will sits up and climbs out of bed, dragging a sheet with him. He's naked, and Grell just looks at the visible part of his body appreciatively.

"Retire there," Will says, reaching for his glasses from the nightstand and slipping them onto his face. "I will see you-"

Grell is up swiftly and wraps his arms around Will who pushes him away.

"I have no desire," he says suddenly, harshly, staring at the floor, "to have any further relations with you."

There's something in Will's voice that makes Grell pause - something final - and he takes a few steps back.

"Stop it," he says softly. "You silly man."

Will just turns his face away and frowns.

"What is so different?" Grell asks.

"I've grown tired," Will says quietly.

"Just come to bed," Grell says again.

"I think not," Will says, raising an eyebrow. "I am perfectly content in the sitting room if you refuse to leave."

"Is it _Alan_?" Grell asks, falling back onto the bed, pushing his hips up. He smiles at Will, as if trying to break the tension. "Or is it Eric, and his giant-"

The door slamming shut interrupts Grell, and he curses to himself as he rises and swings it open.

He follows Will to the kitchen; Will is still wearing the sheet and putting on the kettle.

When he hears Grell, he shakes his head.

"Out," he says.

Grell just comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Will.

"Will," Grell says quietly.

"Out."

"_Will_," Grell repeats.

"_Out_."

The stove cracks slightly as the metal begins to heat under the kettle.

When Will shrugs Grell's arms off again, rather forcefully this time, Grell finally relents.

"I had wished you there," he says softly. It's not a meek statement, nor is it dramatic.

That gets Will's attention, at least for a moment, as he turns to look at Grell with an evaluating expression.

"Oh?" he asks, adjusting his glasses, and then turns back around dismissively.

Grell seizes the sheet, but Will just lets him pull it off so he's standing in front of the stove naked. He doesn't offer Grell so much as a glance, as he turns to retrieve the sugar dish from the other end of the counter.

Will's never been particularly self conscious about his body, much like his manners and demeanor toward other people. Even the very first time they were together, Will had taken off his clothes in short order.

The problem with Will, as Grell has informed him many times when they're lying in bed together after a good shag, is that he doesn't even taste his tea when he drinks it. He doesn't enjoy anything.

"_That's preposterous_," Will had replied. "_I do what is asked of me, though I am not completely immune to enjoyment_."

Grell's retort - which involved no words, though he did express himself fully with his mouth - made Will reconsider his choice of phrase. He had admitted shortly thereafter that he definitely was _not_"immune to enjoyment," and even went so far as to kiss Grell to confirm the fact.

Grell drops the sheet to the floor and huffs; Will continues to ignore him, and takes the kettle off as it starts to whistle.

"I don't have Darjeeling," he says, finally turning to face Grell calmly.

Will knows he likes Darjeeling. Eric Slingby doesn't; nor does Alan, though Grell is willing to wager his finest corset to bet that Eric knows what Alan's favorite tea is.

"I don't want tea," he says, staring at the sheet on the floor. He's almost _pouting _now, though pouting is about to escalate into something more serious.

Will shoots him a long suffering look, pouring himself Earl Grey, and shakes his head.

"Those clothes are a disgrace."

Grell knows very well his clothes are a disgrace; they're rumpled, not buttoned correctly, and have splashes of alcohol and _other _substances on them.

Grell really needs to tell Eric that it's not very gentlemanly to-

"Your... _garment _is hanging in the closet," Will says calmly, taking a sip of the tea after it's steeped for a moment.

Will's one weakness when it comes to patience: waiting for tea to steep.

Grell shrugs off his jacket and lets it drop to the floor, staring at Will; then unknots his tie and pulls it out of his shirt, dropping that too.

Will just watches, not commenting, and takes another sip of his tea.

Grell slowly unbuttons his waistcoat, slides it off his shoulders, and then starts on his shirt, shooting Will a coy little smile.

"You could do that in the other room," Will says, turning away, as if disinterested.

"Oh William, you saucy minx," Grell croons. But with Will's back turned now, he's not slow or seductive, and makes short work of the shirt and trousers.

He wants so desperately for Will to look at him now, naked, standing there.

When he doesn't get his wish, he simply walks out of the kitchen to retrieve his chemise from the wardrobe.

He swings the doors open, and there are Will's suits, all the same, hanging neatly; and then everything to the left is red, brocade, lacy and sheer, silk waistcoats and perfectly fitted trousers.

Will seems to have it in his head that he really is going to sleep in the sitting room, as Grell pulls a delicate red chemise over his head. He can hear William dearest puttering around the other room now, probably searching for some terribly scratchy blanket.

Grell sighs in exasperation before fishing around in the side table and pulling out a soft bristled brush. He sits down on the edge of the empty bed and brushes his hair, neatening what has become quite a sight after the time he had with Alan and Eric.

Eventually, it's untangled enough that he puts the brush back in the drawer and shuts it.

"William," he sings through the door, getting up and retrieving his robe that's hanging on a convenient hook, "what ever are you doing out there?"

There's no answer. What a strange thing - Will never turns down an opportunity to answer back and say something terrible.

Grell slowly opens the bedroom door to peek out.

And there's Will, collapsed on the settee with his hand still resting against the table, as if in mid-motion to grasp his cup, the sheet he had taken wrapped halfway around his body in a terribly uncomfortable state.

Grell tsks and shakes his head.

"Really, William," he says softly, opening the door to walk into the sitting room.

Will stirs slightly in his sleep, mumbling something with a fierce frown on his face.

"Silly dear," Grell says, pulling Will's hand away from the cup.

He takes a moment to pick up the cup - still half full - and inhale the pungent scent of Earl Grey; Will always leaves the strainer in for too long, even after he's refused to let the tea itself fully infuse.

The smell of the tea makes Grell fight the urge to moan; it's as if it's _Will _in a smell. William T. Spears, the upright division manager of the London branch of the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association.

Who, currently, is snoring in a rather unbecoming manner.

"_Honestly_," Grell says, and bends to hook one arm under Will's shoulders and the other under his legs.

He wakes up as Grell carries him into the bedroom and makes an agitated sound.

"Oh, do be quiet you terrible man," Grell says softly as he puts Will down on the bed. "And by the way, dear, these scratchy sheets are just horrendous. Where are the ones I gave you for Christmas?"

"I have no desire," Will says, attempting to retain as much dignity as he can muster to sit up and cross his arms over his chest, "to sleep in the same bed as you."

"I know you're cross," Grell finally hazards, directly acknowledging the situation.

"Yes, I am."

"But-"

"You've really mucked this one up, Sutcliff."

"Stop bloody well calling me Sutcliff, you terrible boor."

"Where did you get that silly robe?"

"It's mine," Grell says, and then lifts his chin and emits a fearsome sound. "I'll be taking it then."

"Then please do reclaim that ridiculous collection of... _toilette water_," Will says, pointing rather emphatically now at the dressing table.

"Very well!" Grell replies in a louder voice, drawing his robe shut with a violent gesture and flipping his hair as he turns. "I shall send a carriage for all of my belongings tomorrow's eve."

"We're working tomorrow evening."

"Well, I have personal business to attend to. My supervisor is a prat."

"I think not."

"Well, then," Grell says, whirling around to point at Will rather venomously, "I shall make it _your _responsibility to deliver my possessions."

"Where?" Will asks.

For a moment, Grell wants to hiss back, "_To my bloody flat, you awful man_," but then he realizes that his flat is a one room hovel assigned to him by the Association to which he hasn't returned in quite some time.

"My flat," he says anyway, grandiosely waving his hand around. "I intended to redecorate quite some time ago."

"Very well, then," Will says calmly, adjusting his glasses. "Now, since you've so _kindly_ invited me back into the bedroom, please do make haste in removing yourself to the _sitting _room."

Will makes his point by positioning himself right in the center of the bed and drawing the duvet up around his waist.

"Not without my duvet," Grell declares, pulling the entire duvet right off the bed and Will, and wrapping it around his shoulders.

"That's not your duvet," Will says, frowning.

"It's _red_, isn't it?" is all Grell retorts, raising an eyebrow and adjusting his own glasses.

Will doesn't argue with that. Instead, he lies down under his white cotton sheets and turns over away from Grell, shutting the light off pointedly.

Grell just stands there for a moment, staring at Will's back.

What a lovely night he's had. A bit of champagne and bantering conversation with that rather delectable boy from the Spectacles workshop, a fantastic shag with two gorgeous men, all eyes on him and all fingers yearning to touch.

But Will isn't looking at him now; Will is still cross. And all things said and done, Grell didn't think he would be; at least not _this _cross.

He certainly didn't think they'd be arguing over whose duvet was on the bed either. In fact, not in his wildest dreams had he thought they'd have this conversation tonight.

And even though he has the duvet now, and Will has yielded and given it to him, it means nothing.

He throws it back on the bed at Will, and just to make his point, throws the robe at him too with an infuriated huff.

"A lady knows when to bow out," he says, his voice bitter and raw.

Finally, Will rolls over in the dark to look at him.

Grell doesn't wait to see what happens; he turns on his heel and stalks out of the bedroom with a determined, angry gait, fully intent on passing through the front door now even though he's now only wearing a light, rather sheer chemise.

He thinks then, as he opens the door and slams it behind him, that he doesn't need any of the things that belong to him in Will's flat. Possessions are so fleeting. They're all beautiful things, mostly acquired from the human women he's assigned to reap on his portion of the To Die List; women who really never deserved them at all. However, Grell has noticed that it seems to be the most beautiful things that generally turn to dust faster than the ugly ones.

He consoles himself with that fact for a moment, and takes a few steps forward to lean over the balcony of Will's flat to stare into the empty courtyard.

It's reaper lodgings - simple, intended to encourage uninterrupted thought and meditation.

There's a reason Grell received C's in ethics - sitting in a bloody supernatural Zen garden all day, reflecting on morals and the responsibility of the divine, had driven him mad. The only bit of fun ever came from brandishing a sickle, preferably with some drama and color (red, to be precise).

The only other thing that's captured Grell's attention longer than his customized chainsaw is William T. Spears. All nearly one century of him.

The door opens behind Grell, but he doesn't turn as Will comes to stand behind him. He does start though when he feels a robe being draped over his shoulders.

"Did you know," he says suddenly, "that dear Alan and Eric have never known one another _intimately_?"

"No, I was not aware of that," Will says, coming to stand next to Grell and look over the balcony idly. He's actually put his entire pajama ensemble on simply to step outside the door. "Nor is it my business or of interest to me," he adds.

"Oh, don't tell me that you're not the _least _bit surprised, Will," Grell says, finally turning to look at him skeptically.

Although Will doesn't gossip, he will admit his opinion when asked.

"Yes, I would have assumed otherwise," he states diplomatically. "They have behave in a manner that is quite...familiar." Grell snorts.

"I assumed they were shagging from the beginning," he adds lecherously.

"_Must _you use that word?" Will asks disapprovingly.

"Don't be a _prude_, William."

They stand there quietly for a moment, which turns into minutes, until finally Will asks, his voice quiet and neutral, "Are you coming inside?"

Grell just turns away for a moment.

When there's no answer to the charged question, Will says suddenly, "In regard to Alan and Eric, you still went forward, even after what you had deduced?"

Grell blinks at the unexpected question, but then smiles slightly.

"Of course, darling," he says. "It's all just a bit of fun, and I believe I've done my good deed for the century. I'm sure they're out somewhere right now, behaving as if they've never even kissed, like humans in their first courtship."

Grell turns to face Will again, tapping a finger against his lips in thought.

"In fact," he adds, "I still don't think they had ever actually kissed before this evening. Hm...how very sickly sweet." He blinks suddenly, as if jarred out of thought, and then smirks at Will. "Not like you and I, my darling. First shag, second shag...third shag and then, just after that third time, I believe I received a rather codgerish _peck _on the cheek."

Will's face actually flushes, however slightly, and Grell's smile widens.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" he asks, fluttering his eyelashes. He takes the time now to slide his arms into the sleeves of the silk robe and tie it at his waist.

"Yes, it is," Will acknowledges.

"And then, that fateful day," Grell swoons, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead dramatically, "when you kissed me right on the mouth, and you were so terribly- _mph_-"

It's taken Will quite a long time to learn how to shut Grell up, but he's found a tried and true method. However, what seems to be a silencing kiss quickly melts into something else, when Will's hands slide down to Grell's hips and Grell's arms wrap around Will's shoulders.

Nevertheless, the kiss ends much too soon, and Will steps away. He doesn't ask Grell again whether he's coming inside, but he does open the door and wait.

Grell just walks haughtily past Will through the open door, straightening his robe self righteously as if he's deigned to bless the flat with his presence once again, his hair breezing behind him as he strides into the kitchen like a preening peacock.

"I've decided that I could do with some tea after all," he declares in a high pitched voice.

Will just raises an eyebrow and says, "Very well."

Grell watches Will out of the corner of his eye through the doorway as he starts to put on the kettle.

Will looks at the discarded duvet on the floor, the one that Grell had claimed was his and that he would be taking with him, and bends down to retrieve it and carry it back into the bedroom with him.

Grell smiles subtly, and decides he has no need for tea after all. He puts his cup back in the cupboard - the only red porcelain teacup painted with tiny gold flowers in a sea of white - and turns off the kettle.

The duvet is a good sign, but as Grell walks toward the bedroom, he slows for a moment, thinking of the possibility that Will really may tell him no, tell him to sleep on the settee.

Grell swings the door open, and there's only one dim lamp lit.

Will is sitting up in bed, the sheets and duvet covering him from the waist down. He's taken off the ridiculous striped shirt, and Grell hopes the pants too. The duvet and sheets have been neatened and smoothed out, centered and tucked soundly into the mattress.

Grell slips his robe off and hangs it back on the back of the door where it usually lives (and has for a great number of years now), and pulls down the bed clothes on his side of the bed.

Will slides down underneath the sheets once Grell is next to him, settling his head on the pillow, lying on his back. They don't touch.

The light is extinguished, and after a few moments, Grell hesitantly turns onto his side and edges toward Will.

"If you must," he says softly, his voice a bad imitation of exasperation.

Grell immediately pushes his entire body against Will's side, rubbing his face against his bare shoulder and draping his arm across Will's chest, bending his leg up slightly to fit against Will's body as close as possible.

He rubs his knee against Will's bare thigh (Will, much to Grell's delight, is indeed naked), and he finally relaxes; he still doesn't wrap his arm around Grell though, like he usually does.

"You're still cross," Grell says quietly after a moment.

"Yes," Will replies, not offering any further explanation.

Grell isn't a remorseful type of being; he doesn't particularly care for others. He rarely feels empathy for anyone, even of his own kind. He craves drama, stimulation, pleasure.

But for just a few moments, every so often, he's relatively sure he'd trade all of it and send himself to Purgatory, if only Will would put his arm around him.

All things considered, Will usually does, and Grell doesn't have to trade anything.

But just the _smell _of Will there next to him is intoxicating, the lingering taste of Earl Grey on his lips where they kissed before.

Will is lying on his back still, and Grell idly moves his fingers to trace a pattern against Will's chest. Will doesn't respond, but he also doesn't say no.

The fingers splay into a hand that slides down Will's ribs, tracing the outline, and then Grell lets his fingers brush over Will's hip.

"I'd have preferred you there," he says softly into the dark.

Will doesn't answer, but he does reach over to comb his fingers through Grell's hair. Will has a distinct fondness for Grell's hair, whether he'll admit it or not.

He finally turns his head to look at Grell who looks at him expectantly.

"Honestly..._Humphries_?" is all he says with a raised eyebrow.

Grell laughs softly into Will's shoulder, replying, "Perhaps he'll give you a demonstration some time."

"That was on one occasion, Grell, and it shall never happen again."

"And what a shame," Grell pouts, kissing Will's shoulder. "It was delightful to see Eric Slingby given a taste of his own-"

"_Honestly_."

"He must have a fondness for strong, silent and _stern_. Oh Mr. Spears, why have you not disciplined _me _yet?"

"Grell," Will's voice is tired.

For once, Grell stops, hearing the tone in Will's voice; he knows he's lucky to be here right now. Usually he's adept at reading Will's moods, but tonight he's utterly failed.

"William," he says softly, "you know very well where that robe is from. It was you that gave it me, you silly man."

"Yes," is all Will says, though he doesn't acknowledge that he pretended he didn't know where it came from.

"Why are you still cross with me, darling?" He kisses Will's shoulder, but it's not insincere.

"As I said," he replies, and now even Will's voice sounds soft, "I am tired. Very tired, Grell."

Grell stiffens, hearing the rather ominous note in Will's voice.

"Tired of someone as beautiful as I?" Grell replies, but regardless of the overly dramatic words, it's an honest question.

Will sighs.

"You know very well that's not the case. Stop posturing."

"Hmph," Grell says, but he stays exactly where he is. "Posturing indeed, you foolish man. If you'd like me to answer a question, then you must-"

"You have caused me to be demoted."

That stops Grell from talking any further; he snaps his mouth shut, and then he does pull away to look at Will.

His eyes widen, his eyebrows raise, and then he adopts an expression of absolute fury, as Will turns his head to meet Grell's gaze calmly.

"_William_," he growls, "I'll reap those bloody upper management prats. I'll even do it with those _ridiculous _scissors you gave me to replace my beautiful chainsaw."

"Grell," Will says, sighing, "that won't help matters. If I hadn't said something, they would've sent you to Purgatory after that..." he clears his throat, and Grell can practically _feel_ Will's anger flaring, but he manages to maintain his composure, "...that _incident _with Angelina Durless."

Grell just stares at him.

"I truly doubt that it would have helped your work ethic. Therefore, I voiced my disagreement. Some uncouth sentiments were exchanged - not on my end, I might add - and I am now reporting to someone who passed exams in 1850."

It's really not in Grell's nature to apologize; his version of an apology is to reap anyone that causes trouble in ways of which he doesn't approve (this in and of itself is rare).

After all, it's not as if Will would keep him around solely from self interest.

"I hear Purgatory is quite temperate," Grell remarks finally, "though I would prefer not to spend my time there. How long did they intend this vacation to last?"

"Ten years," Will replies simply.

The room is very quiet for a moment, and they don't move or speak, until unexpectedly, Will turns onto his side and pulls Grell forward so that their bodies are against each other.

"Take this off," he says softly, tugging at the chemise.

Grell doesn't question it; just sits up, draws it over his head, and throws it on the floor.

When he settles back down under the sheets, Will pulls them together again and sighs, tangling his legs with Grell's and wrapping his arms around him. He kisses Grell's neck and strokes fingers through his hair, unspeaking.

Grell stiffens in surprise, though he makes a contented sound when he feels Will's lips.

"That bloody robe is completely impractical," Will finally says softly, and Grell gives a hoarse little laugh.

"Then why did you give it to me?" he asks.

Will doesn't answer, just runs his hand lightly down Grell's side to his hip, rubbing his thumb over the hipbone gently, winding around to smooth over the curve of Grell's ass, and then back up to rest at the small of his back.

Grell is practically purring at this point, pushing his face against Will's neck and pressing small, quiet kisses against his skin.

They lie there together for a moment without moving, and then Will says softly, "I'll get more Darjeeling tomorrow."

"I don't mind Earl Grey so much," Grell replies just as softly.

"Occasionally," Will says, and Grell can barely hear him now, "some variety is enjoyable."

Grell makes a noise of acknowledgment and curls against Will tightly. It smells like Earl Grey and the only sound is Will's steady breathing as he slowly starts to fall asleep, his fingers absently stroking Grell's hair.

Grell closes his eyes, kissing the arm that's wrapped tightly around him.


End file.
